


Half-time

by Xie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xie/pseuds/Xie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series. Justin's been living in New York, Brian in Pittsburgh. And it's been working for a long time. Is it still? And if not, then what do they do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt of "Football," although it's not necessary to know anything about the game to read this story. I certainly don't!

I had the phone on speaker while I tried to make sense out of a contract Theodore had left on my desk, plastered with sticky notes outlining all the reasons it was a bad, bad deal for us.

I'd just finished reading a note laden with multiple exclamation points and underlined words when something Justin said penetrated my brain. "Wait, stop. You're coming home this weekend?"

Silence, then he put on his patient voice. "That's what I'm telling you. I'm coming home for Debbie's Super Bowl party."

I frowned. "Debbie's having a Super Bowl party?"

"Michael said he'd called you…"

I frowned again, remembering all the voice messages and emails from Michael that I hadn't gotten around to checking yet. "Ooops."

Another beat of silence and then, "Brian. When's the last time you spoke to Michael? Or anyone else not related to work?"

I had to think. "I asked a waiter the other day if he wanted my cock rammed up his…"

He cut me off. "I mean conversation, not making arrangements to get off."

"Well, Sunshine," I said, determined to wrap this topic up as quickly as possible, "I'd say it was the last time I talked to you."

Justin's voice went on, no doubt warning me of the dire consequences of workaholism, liberally sprinkled with "too much stress" and "learn to delegate." I wasn't listening; I'd heard it all before. And not just from Justin – Cynthia, Theodore, Michael and even Debbie had done their time in Jewish mother school.

Before I went home that night, I read Mikey's emails and responded, telling him that while I liked a good tight end as much as the next fag, I wasn't going to gather for the ritual watching of the Super Bowl, even if the Ironmen were playing this year.

But of course, I went anyway. At the last minute, Justin's powers of mind control – in the form of the look he gave me when I told him to "have fun" – won out. The power of the blow job he'd just given me may have weakened my ability to resist as well. I'm constantly forgetting how devious Justin Taylor really is.

Debbie let us in, wearing black sweatpants, an Ironmen sweatshirt, and shiny football-helmet earrings. "Sunshine!" She raised a brow at me. "And Brian 'I wouldn't dream of wasting my time on football' Kinney. What a surprise." She cackled. "Not."

I put the bottle of Scotch I'd brought on the table. "I didn't want to disappoint the lad," I told her, gesturing at Justin.

She cackled again. "Or so you told yourself all the way here."

I ignored her, and grabbed a beer from the cooler on the floor. I'd save the Scotch for after the game started.

I sat down next to Justin, who was deep in conversation with Emmett. But Emmett stopped talking when he saw me.

"So, Brian," he said, "I didn't know you were a football fan. In fact, I could have sworn you hated football."

I shrugged. "I'm not." I took a swallow of my beer. "I just watch for the commercials."

Emmett laughed. "That's right, it's one of the High Holy Days of the advertising year, isn't it?"

Justin and Emmett went back to chatting, and I just watched them. Emmett didn't seem like his usual flaming self. When he went off to help Debbie with the giant Ironman-shaped cake, I raised an eyebrow at Justin. "What's wrong with him?"

He looked amused. "Why didn't you ask him?"

"Because I'm asking you."

"Because the world would stop turning if Emmett found out you cared?"

I stood up; my beer bottle was empty and it felt like time for Scotch. "Forget I asked."

I went into the kitchen, and eyed the back door. I regretted having given up smoking, despite its undoubted benefit to my skin, blood pressure and relationship with my oncologist. Not to mention ending the sad little PSAs Gus emailed me from his Canadian school.

"Hello, boss."

"Theodore. I thought I'd left you chained to your desk."

"This is one of my free days. It's in my contract." He opened a bottle of soda water. "I'm surprised to see you here, though."

I filled a tall glass with Scotch, ignoring the twinge of discomfort I always felt drinking in front of Ted. "When Michael, Deb, and Justin conspire against me, even my superpowers falter."

"Well, it's good to see you doing something relaxing."

I laughed. "You think this is relaxing?" I drained a third of my glass. "Believe me, I have better ways to relax."

Justin came up behind me, and slid his arm around my waist. "I thought we took care of that this morning."

"We did." And I pulled him close against me and shoved my tongue in his mouth.

Somewhere in the middle of what I meant as an anti-social gesture, it turned into a real kiss. And despite my well-established love of sex in public places, fucking in front of this particular audience could have made even my dick soft.

I broke away from him, and could taste the alcohol fumes on both our lips. "Let's go outside."

Justin followed me, and when we got to the little alley, I realized it was starting to snow, and neither one of us had a jacket. But I just pushed him against the side of the house and kissed him.

His mouth was hot, and so were his hands on my neck. I slid mine under the back of his sweater, and the heat from his skin burned against my palms. He was tipping his head back, and I traced the vein on his throat with my tongue.

I moved a little, shifting my thigh between his leg, pressing upward just enough to make him groan. "I want to fuck you," I said against his ear, feeling his cock jerk against my leg when I said it.

It was too cold, but he was fumbling between us, opening his jeans.

I dug in my pocket for a condom, and Justin turned around while I unfastened my jeans and rolled it on. He braced himself with his hands against the side of the house, and when I nudged the head of my cock against his hole, his head dropped back on my shoulder. "Brian," he whispered, and I leaned down and kissed him, awkward and wet.

I had to pull my mouth away from his, gripping his hips to get all the way in. He gasped when I made the last, deepest thrust, and pulled my hand down to his cock.

It was hard and hot, just like it always was. For a second I felt like I knew his cock better than I knew my own, felt the perfect thickness of how the shaft fit in my fist, the smooth slick head, the way his breathing changed when I played with his slit.

"Now," he said, "come on, now, Brian. Fuck me."

I changed the angle of my hips and moved my hand faster on his cock. He pulled one hand off the wall, and wrapped his fingers over mine. "Come on," he said, tightening his grip. "Brian…come on…"

I was almost coming, his ass clenching on my cock, Justin making little sounds in his throat – I had to close my eyes because everything felt too light, too hot, too loud. And then the heat shrank down into one bright flaming spot and exploded. Justin's cock flooded all over my hand, and I was shooting into his ass, and all I could see was red light splintering against blackness.

I finally let my weight press against him, and he let himself shift a little closer to the house. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and kissed his hair.

I pulled out of him gently. I didn't talk, and he didn't turn around. We just stood there, half-undressed in the freezing cold, my chest pressed against his back. I didn't think about anything.

It was Justin who finally said something, of course. He had a fraction of my tolerance for silence. But all he said was, "Hey."

He turned around inside my arms, and I pressed my mouth against his. I didn't want to talk. He went along with it, arms wound around my neck, body pressed tight against me, probably as much out of cold as anything else.

I could feel the wind cutting against my back, and I finally broke the kiss. I pressed our foreheads together. "I guess we'd better go back inside."

He looked at me for a long time. "Do you want to go home?" he asked, his voice quiet.

I made my voice dry. "After everything you went through getting me here?"

He gave me a look. "I didn't say a word."

"Your face said it all."

He laughed, and put his hand on my cheek. "I apparently have a very verbose and persuasive face."

I brushed the hair back from his forehead.

"Fasten your pants," I told him, as I steered him toward the door.

He laughed, and buttoned his jeans while I did mine.

When we got inside, Michael and his little nuclear family had arrived.

"I went outside to find you," he said. "But you and Justin were busy so I thought I'd wait until you came inside."

I brushed a kiss across his cheek. "Excellent judgment there, Mikey."

Debbie shook her head, helmet earrings bobbing. "I fucking can't believe the two of you, fucking in the alley in the snow. Why didn't you do that before you got here?"

"We did," Justin said, twisting the top off a beer bottle. "We haven't seen each other in almost a month." He grinned, his mouth around the rim. "We have needs, Deb."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm familiar with your and Brian's needs, Sunshine. Believe me, everyone in Pittsburgh is familiar with them."

"The game's starting," Carl called from the recliner in the living room.

An hour later, I frowned at the screen. "How can a game that’s played in four quarters at 20 minutes each take four hours to play?"

Justin bumped my shoulder with his. "It's all the ads."

Emmett nodded. "That's right, baby. Rampant consumerism trumps athleticism every time."

I snorted. "There aren't two hours worth of ads," I pointed out.

Just then, Emmett's true love did something superhuman on the field, prompting everyone in the room to start cheering. I could hear an echo of the noise from every house on the block.

Everyone was watching the television, but I watched Emmett's face.

At the next commercial break, he stood up. "I'll get some more refreshments," he announced brightly.

He went into the kitchen, and I followed him.

"So, what the fuck's wrong with you?" I said.

I'd used a sympathetic tone of voice, one I hoped would encourage him to open up, but in as brief a manner as possible. If not, at least Justin and Theodore were nearby to take over.

"You wouldn't understand," he said.

"It's true that, being in advertising, I have little or no understanding of the human psyche," I said. "But you might feel better if you got it off your chest, even if it's too deep and complex for me to comprehend."

"Fuck you, Brian," he said, sliding some kind of little pastries onto a tray shaped like a football.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to take way, way too long. "Have you talked to Drew lately?"

He stared at me. "How did you know that?"

I sighed patiently. "It's obvious."

Emmett sat down at the table, and buried his head in his arms. "I should never have called him. I just wanted to wish him luck…"

"And some other guy answered his phone?"

Emmett stared at me. "Okay, this is freaking me out."

"What is?" It was Ted.

"My ability to divine what's bothering Emmett," I said, heading to the cooler for another beer.

"Well," Ted said, picking up a pastry off the tray. "I assumed it had something to do with Drew. Did you talk to him?" He chewed. "This is delicious, Em."

Emmett shook his head. "Does everyone know?"

"Know what?" Debbie said, coming into the kitchen. "Are you guys eating all these cheesy tart things?"

"Save some for me," yelled Carl. "And Deb, sweetie…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get you a beer." She grabbed one out of its bed of ice. "You'd think this was the diner."

"Well," Ted said, "Except that these tarts are fantastic, and the diner food… no offense."

Deb's eyes narrowed. "You eat enough of it," she said.

Ted nodded. "Point taken."

"Do you think," Emmett interjected, "we could get back to my conversation with Drew?"

"Did you have one?" I said, trying one of the tarts. "Or did you hang up when his trick answered?"

"I wish I thought it was a trick," Emmett said miserably. "What if it was his true love? He used to be the marrying kind… maybe now that he's gotten all that fucking out of his system, he's ready to settle down. With…"

"Did you talk to him at all?" Ted interrupted.

"Of course he didn't," I said. "He hung up and ran off to cry." I took a swallow of beer. "And, undoubtedly, eat too much ice cream."

"Vanilla pudding," Emmett said, miserably. "I almost feel like throwing up just thinking about it."

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Emmett. Maybe Drew doesn't know it was you."

He sighed. "He does. Caller ID."

"Fucking technology," I said in my most supportive voice. "Well, I'm glad we had this talk…"

I was edging away when Emmett threw himself on Theodore. "Oh, Teddy," he sobbed. "What am I going to do?"

Ted patted his back. "There, there, Em. It's going to be okay." He glared at me over Emmett's head. "Great job, Brian. You should consider becoming a therapist."

"You'd know," I said, snagging one more pastry. "You married one."

I went back to the living room and dropped down next to Justin on the sofa.

"Were you the one who made Emmett cry?" he asked, grabbing my beer and taking a swallow.

I grabbed it back. "This is why I try not to get involved in the personal lives of people around me…"

He snorted. I pretended not to hear.

The game started again, and I watched for a while. The Ironmen didn't seem to be doing their usual job of mowing down the opposition; the other team took the lead early, and didn't look like they intended to let it go.

"Well," I said, "This is boring."

"Excuse me," Debbie said. "Some of us are watching a game."

They took yet another advertising break, and I watched with interest for around 4 seconds before I frowned. "These are the worst Super Bowl ads I've ever seen."

"Pretty pathetic," Justin agreed, standing up. "Come and help me get another beer."

"Can't you get it your… oh." I followed him into the kitchen, and started heading for the back door again.

He stopped me with his hand on my arm. "It's too cold. I just wanted to ask you something."

Justin was giving me the look I associated with a deep and emotional personal conversation. I tried to look interested.

"Brian…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you have something you wanted to say?"

"Why did you come today?"

I didn't answer right away. When I did, I think I surprised him. "To be with you."

"Oh."

I shrugged. "Are you surprised?"

"That you want to be with me? No." He smiled. "That you said it without four minutes of disclaimer and preamble? Yes."

I almost reached for another beer, but decided I'd had enough. "Is there some context to your question?"

"Well," he said, stepping closer to me and putting one arm over my shoulder, "I was planning on lecturing you on being an asshole to everyone, but given the circumstances, no."

I let my forehead rest against his. "I missed you."

He brought his other arm up and wrapped them both around my neck. "I miss you all the time."

We stood there for a long time, just leaning against each other, until a huge collective groan from the living room and the streets outside broke the relative silence.

I glanced toward the television, and saw Michael stand up. "Well, so much for that."

Justin gently smacked me on the arm. "Show some sympathy. Emmett's going to feel terrible."

We rejoined the crowd, and I did my best to commiserate. Alright, maybe not my best.

They interviewed Drew on the post-game show, and his jaw looked tight even though his answers were text-book. Written, I supposed, by some PR pro.

On the other hand, Drew had always had the patter down. I'd have predicted a bright future for him in sports punditry, if I thought people would ever get over caring that he was a fag.

"Thanks for coming," Michael said, breaking into my thoughts. He sat down next to me, in the space Justin seemed to have vacated. "I was about to stage an intervention."

I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I wish everyone would grasp that I'm doing what I want and need to do," I said.

Michael just looked at me, and I frowned.

I tried again. "I have two empires to run, and a very active sex life. And if you don't think it takes time to keep up my wardrobe, and get my hair done…"

Michael didn't laugh, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, I felt myself look away. "Drop it, Mikey," I said. "We all have to grow up sometime. I guess this was my time."

"Christ," he said. "This isn't about growing up. It's about having a life."

I stood up. "I think I'll just have a drink."

Michael didn't take the hint, and followed me into the kitchen.

"Brian, when was the last time you did anything that wasn't related to work, or getting laid?"

"Christ, do you and Justin share a scriptwriter?" Then I remembered who I was talking to, and laughed. "No, of course not. You're the writer. I should have known."

He shook his head. "You don't get it. No one's writing anything. We're just worried about you." He put his hand on my arm. "All of us. Me, Justin, Ma, Ted…"

I had to laugh. "Theodore had better worry more about his job and my money, and less about my personal life," I said.

I got a beer and started to go back into the living room, but I stopped. Now that the game was over, I'd probably get more of the same from Deb and Ted. I knew Justin wouldn't say anything, but he'd be thinking it. And that was almost as bad.

I grabbed my jacket before I went out the door. I stood on the porch and waited. If Justin followed me out, fine. If not, I was sure someone would give the lad a ride home.

The snow had stopped falling, and the streetlights made circles on the white sidewalks.

When I got back to the loft, I stripped and got in the shower. The hot water slicked down my skin, and I tried to force the muscles in my neck to relax.

I knew there'd be some kind of pain in the ass scene when Justin got back. I tried not to think about it while I breathed in the steamy heat.

It was dark and quiet in the loft when I got out. My first impulse was to not be there when he got back, but I got into bed, pulled the duvet over my head, and slept.

It was dark and quiet when I woke up, and Justin still wasn't there. I felt… surprisingly not annoyed. I picked up my phone, hesitated for just a second, and called him.

"Hey."

I felt my lips fold in. "Hey. Where are you?"

"I'm still at Deb's," he said, his voice level but not actually hostile. "Where are you?"

I cleared my throat. "At the loft. I just woke up." I pushed my hand through my hair. "I'll come get you."

A pause, then, "Okay."

When I pulled up in front of the house, I hesitated, then cut the ignition.

I hesitated again at the door. Justin must have seen my car, because he opened it right away. But he didn't come out, just stood aside and gestured toward the kitchen.

Michael and Ben had left, and so had Ted. Carl was still in his recliner, watching the post-post-post game show on ESPN. Debbie and Emmett were sitting in the kitchen, three mugs and a tea pot on the table.

I opened my mouth to say something to Emmett, then snapped it shut. It didn't seem to be the night for me to be offering life skills coaching to others.

Justin re-appeared, wearing his jacket. I'd assumed the three of them had been talking about Emmett's woes, but it suddenly struck me that Justin's and my somewhat unconventional long-distance relationship may have been discussed over tea and leftover football fare. I almost laughed at the thought of Emmett giving Justin advice about me.

"Let's go," Justin said. His face and voice didn't tell me anything – which in and of itself told me quite a bit.

I let the engine run for a while so the car would warm up. When I glanced over at Justin, he was looking at me.

"Brian…" he began.

I cut him off. "Justin, I get that you think I'm working too much, and don't have a life…"

He looked amused. "You don't 'get' anything, Brian."

I shut up.

He put his hand on my leg. "I don't want to talk."

I stared at him, and wondered if there'd been something mind-altering in Debbie's tea.

His hand moved up a little further up my thigh. "I want to make a proposition."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds promising."

He nodded. "Let's go to Toronto and see Gus." He took a breath. "In the morning. Or tonight."

Where the fuck had that come from? "You think I need to see Gus?"

"I think," he said, speaking slowly, "that you and I need to be somewhere that's not Pittsburgh and isn't New York. And I think it would be good for both of us to see Gus. Yes."

I was about to tell him he was out of his mind if he thought I could just walk away from Kinnetik the next day, when a car pulled up behind us. The lights hit my rear-view mirror, and it was so bright that I had to turn my head.

Someone got out of the car – it was a cab – and started up the path toward Deb's. Justin turned around to watch, and suddenly said, "Oh, my god."

I tried to see, but my view was cut off by the roofline of the Corvette. "What?"

"It's Drew."

I stared at him. "Are you sure?"

Just then we heard Debbie shrieking at the front door. "I’m sure," Justin said, laughing.

And then he stopped.

"Brian…"

I leaned closer to him, and he looked at me for a minute. I saw his face soften just a little, and then I kissed him.

It wasn't to shut him up, and it wasn't to change the subject. I didn't have any fucking agenda except to get my mouth on his, feel his hands in my hair, taste him.

He surprised me by forcing me against the back of the seat. I opened my mouth and his tongue stroked mine, and I worked my hand down between us, cupping his cock and balls in my palm.

He pulled back, and it was so dark I couldn't see his eyes. I felt his fingers on mine, and I turned my hand over and laced them together.

There were three sharp knocks on the window, and Justin rolled it down. "Hi, Debbie, we were just…"

She interrupted. "Emmett and Drew went upstairs, and Carl's sleeping in his EZ-Boy. I don't know what you two are doing out here, but since it doesn’t look like you're fucking…" she peered at me, then went on, "Why don't you come back inside?"

Justin raised his eyebrows at me, and I gave Deb a look. "As long as you promise not to make me drink tea."

She rolled her eyes and promised me coffee, and I looked at Justin and shrugged.

I sat at the table. Debbie was making coffee, and she and Justin laughed when he reached over her head to get clean cups.

I suddenly remembered the first time I'd come into this house. I'd followed Michael in the back door; we were laughing, and our shoes were covered with mud. I'd assumed when he casually asked me if I wanted to come over that his mom would be at work, but she was at the stove, stirring something.

I froze, but Michael just said, "Hi, ma," and made a beeline for the bag of chips on the counter.

"Don't ruin your appetite!" she said. "And leave your shoes out back. I just mopped in here."

"A week ago," Michael said, grinning as he shoved a fistful of chips in his mouth. I felt my whole body get tense, but his mom just laughed, her earnings dancing. She was still laughing as we ran barefoot up the stairs.

I felt Justin poke my leg with his foot, and I saw he'd put a mug in front of me and sat down at the table. "Hey," he said, looking curious.

I smiled, and blew across the surface of the coffee.

Deb sat down, and we heard loud voices from upstairs.

"Well, that's one quarterback who won't be getting lucky tonight," I said, glancing at the ceiling.

Debbie shook her head. "Nah. This is the yelling before the fucking. I give it…" she glanced at the clock. "Ten minutes, 15 tops, before we hear the bedsprings creaking."

Debbie tore her mind away from hot quarterback sex and stood up. "Can I get you boys some re-heated lasagna?"

Justin got up. "Let me do it, Deb. You've been feeding everyone all day."

She laughed and sat down. "Try all my life, Sunshine."

I watched Justin slide the lasagna into the microwave. Deb was watching me, and I finally looked right at her.

"Just say it, Deb."

"Say what?"

"Whatever's under that red wig of yours. You practically have a thought bubble over your head." Justin was suddenly there, coffeepot in hand, and I let him refill my cup as a moment of homage to his busboy beginnings.

"I'm wondering when you're going to remember you have a family that loves you, and a life, and…"

"How can I forget I have a family when you're all reminding me ten times a day?"

Debbie narrowed her eyes. "Well, Brian, none of us has seen you in months, and you finally turn up tonight with Sunshine here…"

I stood up. "You know, I'm not hungry. Justin…"

He slammed the lasagna pan on the counter. "Brian. Sit down. You've been acting like an asshole all day."

"When I didn't have my dick up your ass, you mean?"

He glared at me, but I finally relented and sat back down. I didn't, however, eat one bite of the lasagna.

Debbie glanced at the ceiling. "Listen to that."

It was the bedsprings creaking. I had to laugh.

Debbie and Justin ate, and I drank coffee. I pushed the lasagna around, although I'm sure I didn't fool them. My throat felt a little tight; maybe I was coming down with something.

I suddenly didn't want to be there if Emmett came tripping down the stairs all radiant and freshly-fucked. I didn't want to be there when Carl woke up, and came over to absently kiss Debbie's cheek. I felt like I was suffocating.

I carried my dish to the trash, scraped it clean, and put it in the sink. Then I turned around and looked at them both.

"Well," I said brightly, "Justin and I have a plane to catch in the morning, so…"

Justin looked surprised, but Debbie just looked pleased. "You're going back to New York with Sunshine?"

I shook my head. "We're going to Toronto." I held up my hand. "And no. We're not eloping to the queer Mecca in the north. Just visiting my kid."

I hustled Justin out of there, and when we got back into the car, this time I didn't linger. When we stopped at a red light, I didn't look at him, but I put my hand on his leg.

Back at the loft, he didn't say anything right away. He put a few things in his bag, and plugged in his iPhone to charge, and then he sat on the bed and watched me get undressed. "Are we really going?"

I nodded towards the computer in the other room. "Go buy tickets. My frequent flyer number and card are stored…"

He stood up. "I know."

I was lying in bed when he came back in, stripped, and crawled in next to me.

I let my hand curl around the back of his neck, and we just lay there, breathing.

I was wondering if he'd fallen asleep when he finally said something. "What do you want, Brian?"

I sighed. "I thought you didn't want to talk."

"I'm just curious. You say you miss me…"

I kissed his hair.

"… and you're acting like you can't wait to leave Deb's, like if you don't get away from everyone you're going to explode. I'm just wondering. Where is it that you want to be? What do you want that you don't have?"

I rolled away from him. "Do we really have to do this, Justin?"

He sat up. "I think so. Yeah."

I turned back to face him. "Every time we have this conversation, it doesn't get us anywhere. We talk about me moving to New York, but we can't make that work. Or you coming back here, and we can't make that work. I'm sick of talking about what we can't have."

He nodded. "That's why I wanted to go to Toronto."

I stared at him. "You think we can move to Toronto?"

He laughed and slid back down to lie on his side, facing me. His hand touched my face, and I pushed my head against it for a second.

His voice was quiet. "I think we need to get away from all the places we've had this conversation, and try to change something. Because I agree; we're just going around in circles."

I suddenly buried my face in his shoulder. "I don't know how to change it."

He wrapped his arms and legs around me then, kissing my hair and my face. "I know. But we'll figure it out."

"What if we can't?" I'd never asked that question before, not even in my head.

"What," he said, almost laughing, "you and me quitting the first time it gets tough?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed. "Fuck you."

"Okay," he agreed happily, and rolled me over on top of him, his legs still wrapped around me.

"It was a figure of speech," I told him, but I could feel my cock start to fill.

"Look," he said, "we've been through way too much crap to let a little geography ruin everything. We'll go visit Gus, and you can fight with Melanie and let Lindsay give you advice, and I'll go to her gallery and talk to her about my art, and then we'll see." His voice broke a little. "Deal?"

What else could I do? I told him, "Deal," and reached for a condom.

After we fucked, I whispered into his ear that I loved him. And he slipped his foot under my leg, and sighed against my skin. "I love you, too."

The next morning we were standing in line waiting to board our flight, and I shook my head. "You know, Canada's not really a mystical place outside of time and reality, where all our problems will magically resolve themselves."

He grinned at me. "Sure it is," he said, and pulled me down the gangway to the plane.


End file.
